Lost and Found
by Billee Wisconsin
Summary: Still looking up at the ceiling, Riley mused over his decision. What did he owe Robin, anyway? Why should he let her stay in his apartment? But, on the same token, why shouldn’t he? It had, after all, been his fault....
1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note**: Wow; it's been a long time since I've uploaded anything onto good ol' For anyone reading this that's a fan of WtE, you're in luck: we're rewriting it to make it more suitable for human eyes. It's going slowly, but I think it's turning out better than the original. Erm... yeah. A big thanks to all of you who have added me to your Author Watch and Author Alert lists, even though this account has been quite dormant for quite a while.  
Ch'yeah. And about this... it's not in space, but I like it okay, I guess. My space!NT one just has a few kinks to work out.  
**Disclaimer**: I don't own National Treasure. Shocking, I know.

**Chapter One**

"Would you mind if I… if I moved in with you?"

Riley's insides went cold. Had he really just heard that? Surely, surely she had to be joking—she just had to be.

"I mean, I could pay half the rent, or whatever, and help buy groceries. I just… I need a place to stay for a while. I know it's sudden and out of the blue, but please, Riley. I don't know who else to ask…."

There certainly was a pleading note in her voice, but it had been more than eight years since they had spoken in a normal conversation. She couldn't really be serious. Still, though, there was something, a small nagging in the back of his mind…. "Robin," he said finally, "look, this is completely out of the blue. I don't know if this is a good idea, I mean, you remember—"

"Yes," she said hurriedly, "I remember. Can't we just put that behind us? Riley, please, it won't be for long—just until I can find a place of my own."

"Your new boyfriend kicked you out, didn't he?"

She gave a miserable affirmative reply and paused for a moment. "Please, Riley, please…."

He sighed, a rush of static over the telephone. "I don't know why I should do this," he said, "but all right, fine. Just until you find your own place, though, right?"

"Right."

"And you're going to be actively looking, right?"

"Of course."

"Okay, I'm out of town right now," he said, "but there's a spare key hidden under the vase of flowers in front of the apartment next to mine. Make yourself at home, I guess. I'll be back tomorrow."

"Thank you so much, Riley. Really, I can't thank you enough—"

"Save it," he said. Without so much as a good-bye, he hung up. What had he been thinking, letting her move in? Even if it was just until she found her own place….

"Daddy?"

He looked at the little girl sitting across the table from him. There could be no doubt she was his daughter; except for her blonde hair, she looked like him in nearly every way. She had just turned eight. How ironic, he thought, that Robin should choose to call during the week he was with his daughter—

"Who was that?"

"Just a friend I went to school with," he said, smiling.

"Is it that lady Mommy always talks about? She says you have a friend who… who doesn't deserve to… to lick the ground you walk on."

Riley sighed, settling back into his chair, looking up at the ceiling. "Your mom _would_ say something like that," he said. "But yeah, that's her."

"Why does Mommy say that about her?"

He looked at his daughter and saw that the subject would not be dropped until the question was answered. If he didn't answer, she would ask her mother, and if her mother found out Robin was moving back in…. "I'll tell you when you're older, Rebecca, how's that?"

His daughter frowned, but didn't press the matter, and had soon, it seemed, forgotten about it completely as a brownie sundae was absently set on the table in front of her by a pretty young waitress that seemed more concerned with the nearby table full of bulky football players than a geeky-looking man and his daughter.

Still looking up at the ceiling, he mused over his decision. What did he owe Robin, anyway? Why should he let her stay in his apartment? But, on the same token, why _shouldn't_ he? It had, after all, been _his_ fault….

He decided not to think about it, instead looking at his daughter as she finished her ice cream. She pouted at him as he stuck his own spoon into the sundae and took a bite, but broke into a grin as he hung the spoon on the end of his nose.

Once they had paid and the waitress had taken the dishes away, they made their way out into the parking lot to where the beat-up green pickup truck sat. A far cry from the Ferrari he had back home, it had been one of the only vehicles available for rent over the holiday weekend. He sternly reminded himself to make earlier reservations next time.

"Well, kiddo," he said, once they were in the truck and backing out of the parking space, "I guess I'd better take you back to your mom. I have to leave early in the morning."

"Why do I not get to see you a lot?"

He hadn't been expecting the question. Her usual question was _when are you coming back_. "Well," he said, "it's complicated. Basically, your mom doesn't think I'm very responsible, and doesn't think I can take care of you as well as she can."

"Oh." That was all she said: _oh_, and then she fell silent for the rest of the car ride, not even singing along when he turned on Radio Disney for her.

The short car ride was soon over, and the truck was parked in the driveway of a small home. Riley grabbed his daughter's suitcase from the bed of the truck and carried it to the front door. After he rang the doorbell, the door was quickly opened by a young blonde woman.

Her eyes swept to the beat-up truck sitting in her driveway, fixed briefly upon Riley, then, more gently, fell upon Rebecca. "Did you have a good time with your daddy?" she asked stiffly, a rather forced smile on her face.

The little girl nodded earnestly, and threw her arms around her father as he knelt to be eye-level with her.

"You be good, okay, Rebecca? And take care of yourself—don't go running off with any boys or anything."

The blonde woman rolled her eyes. "For heaven's sake, Riley, she's only eight."

He stood, a hand still resting on his daughter's shoulder. "Lighten up, Rachel, it's only a joke." He glanced over the woman's shoulder and waved to the red-headed woman sitting in the living room watching television. "Hey, Lauren," he called. He got a friendly wave in return. "See, Rachel," he said, looking back at the blonde woman in front of him, "Lauren's gotten over it. Why can't you?"

"You didn't tell me you were seeing someone."

"And you didn't tell me you were a lesbian," he retorted. He rolled his eyes at the sour look she gave him, and stooped to kiss his daughter's forehead. "Be good, kid. Call me, sometime, all right? I love you."

"I love you, too, Daddy."

The little girl smiled sadly as her father climbed back into the truck, waving to her as he backed out of the driveway. His visits were few and far between; there was no telling when he would come back to visit again. He was the father that was never physically there, but he kept in touch—phone calls came at least weekly, along with greeting cards for holidays and birthdays. It was no fault of his; Rachel didn't approve of some of his more unorthodox hobbies—treasure hunting, going to a park in the middle of the night just to look at the stars for a sign of extraterrestrial life, collecting comic books, occasionally stopping by science fiction conventions decked out in full _Star Trek_ regalia…. "Why can't you just grow up?" she kept saying. "You're a father, for God's sake; learn some responsibility and start acting like one! Just _grow up_!"

He ground his teeth and gripped the steering wheel so tightly his knuckles turned white. His relationship with Rachel had never been a good one, from start to finish, and now this. It had been Rachel's fault he hadn't seen Robin in eight years. He had pleaded for her to just let him take Rebecca home, to live in D.C. with him, but she had refused. He would never be a good enough father in her eyes.

Arriving back at his hotel room, he repacked his suitcase, then laid face-up on the bed, staring at the ceiling absently. Making a decision, he groped for his cell phone on the bedside table. He dialed a number and waited. On the third ring, the call was answered.

"Hey, Riley. Everything okay down there?"

"I don't know, Ben," he replied, frowning slightly. He paused, sighed, then continued, "Ben, Robin's moving back in."


	2. Chapter 2

**Author's Note**: Not much going on in this chapter; it's mostly just for background information. And yes, despite the fact he has 50 million dollars or so collecting dust in a bank account somewhere, Riley still lives in a small apartment.  
_DaisyDuke80_: In response to your review, yeah, it pretty much sucks to be Riley in any of my NT fics.

**Chapter Two**

'_Well, at least she had the decency to use the fold-out bed_,' was the first thought that crossed Riley's mind as he opened the door to his apartment. Robin was there, lying on the fold-out couch, asleep. The television was still on, the volume turned down so that it was barely audible. An audience applauded on-screen. She had been watching his TiVoed episodes of _American Idol_.

He grabbed the remote and turned off the television. She stirred a bit but remained asleep, something he was not sorry about; he didn't really want to talk right now. He walked down the short hallway into his bedroom, dropped his suitcase on the floor, then fell onto his bed, not bothering even to take off his shoes. As he fell asleep, his mind lingered on the past.

**:-x-:-x-:-x-:**

"_Robin—Robin, wait!"_

"_No, I'm not going to wait. I'm leaving—right now." She grabbed a duffel bag and began throwing items into it without regard to how they were packed. Text books, a hair dryer, some clothes, a shoe without a mate…_

"_Robin, please, we can talk through this."_

_She paused in her packing, whirling around to face him. "Talk through this? _Talk through this_? There's no talking with you, Riley. It's, 'Hey, let's go to this party!' Or something like, 'Want to just stay home and watch a _Star Trek_ marathon?' And, of course, we can never forget the infamous, 'Let's go on an adventure—see? I found a treasure map!' I'm through with it, Riley. Grow up, then we'll talk. Why can't you ever just be responsible for your own actions?"_

"_I am responsible for my own actions—"_

"_Oh really?" She was in the doorway now, frowning. Grey streaks ran down her cheeks—the cliché running mascara. The stereotypical break-up scene. She gestured at the blonde woman sitting in the bed, the sheets pulled up to her chin. "What do you call that?"_

"_Robin, I made a mistake. Please, I'm sorry! Let's just talk this through—"_

_But it was too late; the door had slammed behind her. Now it was the blonde woman's turn. "You didn't tell me you were seeing someone!" she said, her cheeks flushing. She wasn't shouting like Robin had been, but the undertone of anger was clearly evident in her voice. "You didn't tell me you were living with someone!"_

"_Rachel, things got out of hand, I—"_

"_And you didn't tell me how good-looking she was."_

"_Please, I can expl—what?" He looked at her incredulously. "You're bi?"_

_She dropped the sheet and climbed off the bed, staggering slightly. The beers she had had were still affecting her. She belched, then grabbed her shirt off the back of a chair. "No, of course not," she said. She grabbed her skirt from the floor and yanked it up, too. "I'm a lesbian."_

_He couldn't believe it. This couldn't be happening—not to _him_. His girlfriend had walked out on him, and why? All because a conversation with a drunken lesbian had gotten a bit out of hand. He felt a stab of guilt as she belched and grabbed her purse, beginning to make her way toward the door—he hadn't been drinking. He was still underage, not even twenty yet. Rachel had just turned twenty-one and was out celebrating with friends; she was clearly in no condition to drive home, so he had offered to give her a lift. One thing led to another, and somehow they had ended up back at his apartment. _

_She stumbled as she reached the door. Grabbing on to the frame, she looked back at him. "Sorry if there was a misunderstanding," she said. Her words were slurring together a little. "You're cute," she continued, "but you aren't my type."_

_And then she left, leaving Riley standing half-dressed in his apartment, a bruise forming on his forehead where Robin had thrown a toothbrush at him._

**:-x-:-x-:-x-:**

_And, just as he had begun to hope the two women had settled into a strained silence, neither speaking to him, he received a phone call from Rachel. She was pregnant. With his child. "Are you sure?" he asked._

"_You're the only man I've ever been with. I'm not excited about it either; I had hoped that if this ever happened, the father of my child would have been better-looking."_

_He ignored the comment. "What do you need me to do?"_

_In the end, her terms were that she had sole custody of the child and he would pay her monthly child support; in return, he would get visitation rights and the child would bear his surname. Later that year, he saw his baby daughter Rebecca Anne for the first time. She was so tiny, so fragile; he instantly had fallen in love with her, swearing to always be there for her. And for the next few years, he was. Rachel and her girlfriend Lauren were renting a small house in Tallahassee while the latter finished her schooling at Florida State._

_Any chance he got—weekends, after classes, lunch breaks—he was at their house, holding and cuddling his daughter, much to the irritation of Rachel. Then, when Rebecca was three, Lauren and Rachel moved south to Orlando. Riley, now having graduated, was left with two choices: follow them, or look elsewhere for a job. He chose the latter, and moved northeast to Washington, D.C., where he soon met Benjamin Gates and had the adventure of a lifetime…._


	3. Chapter 3

**Author's Note**: Another short chapter with not a whole lot going on... I debated about merging this one with the next; the next will be longer, I promise--dinner at the Gates' Estate. Fun stuff.

**Chapter Three**

"You aren't going to throw that at me, are you?"

Robin jumped at the question, jerking the toothbrush out of her mouth. She spat in the sink and turned to see Riley leaning in the open doorway. "Riley, about some of the things I said that night—"

He waved a hand to interrupt her. "Forget about it; I deserved it."

A pause fell between them. Lacking anything to say in response to his statement, Robin turned back to the sink and continued brushing her teeth. She felt his gaze on her back for a moment longer, then glanced in the mirror in time to see him turn and walk away. The sounds of sizzling bacon drifted through the small apartment, the smell soon accompanying it. When she had finished brushing her teeth, she walked into the small kitchenette and leaned against the counter. "You didn't have to let me stay here," she said.

"Yeah, I know. I felt like I owed it to you, though."

An uncomfortable silence fell between them again.

"It's funny," said Riley at last, "we haven't seen each other in eight years, and we have absolutely nothing to talk about." She gave a slight, almost nervous laugh in agreement, and he continued, "So what did you do after…. I mean, where did you go?"

She gave a sort of half-shrug. "I went to stay with Lindsay McAllister. She's nice, and so's her sister, but her sister's a lesbian who's living with this lady that's a total b—"

"Did you say McAllister?" he asked sharply, looking over at her. He cursed as some grease from the pan flew out and landed on his hand.

"Yeah, why?"

"That's—err, I know her sister," he said. Telling Robin he was still in contact with Rachel probably wasn't the best of ideas. "Lauren, right? She's a friend of a friend. Anyway, keep going."

She glanced at the clock on the wall. "Actually, I should probably be going. I have to get to work." She grabbed a piece of bacon and walked out the front door, pausing only to grab her wallet off the end of the counter and to give a small wave.

Riley finished cooking his breakfast and sat down to eat, turning on the television, more for background noise than anything. He had just put the first spoonful of Life into his mouth when he heard his cell phone ring. Putting the television on mute, he swallowed and answered it.

"Is she there?" It was Ben.

"Yeah, she's here. Well, not right now; she just left for work."

"How are things?"

Riley contemplated this for a moment as he chewed on another spoonful of cereal. Thing's weren't going spectacularly, but he hadn't been expecting that to begin with. On the other hand, they had managed to have a conversation without shouting at each other. "Awkward," he said at last.

Ben laughed. "I figured as much. Listen, if you want to get out of your apartment for a while, my parents and Abigail's are coming over for dinner tonight around seven-ish, and you guys are welcome to come, too. We need someone to break the tension between my parents."

"So that's it, then? I'm the comic relief for this group?"

"Something like that, yeah."

He considered it as he chewed on a piece of bacon. "All right, fine. I'll come, and I'll see if Robin wants to go. See you later, man." He hung up and got ready to call Robin. He stopped, looking at the list of contacts on his phone. After all these years, her number was still there. No doubt the number had changed—he didn't know how long she had been living in D.C., but she surely wouldn't still have a Florida number. On a whim, he tried it anyway.

"_We're sorry, but the number you are trying to reach is no longer in service._"

He had expected as much. He ended the call and leaned back in his chair, still munching away on his cereal. It was soggy. He thought of trying to call her at work, but realized he had no idea what she did for a living, never mind where she worked or the phone number.

Putting the dishes in the sink to be washed later, he went back into his bedroom to unpack his suitcase. Unzipping it, he pulled out a pair of jeans; deeming them to still be clean, he laid them on his bed. He looked back down at the remaining contents of the piece of luggage and saw a folded up piece of construction paper. He pulled it out and unfolded it, and found the words _I love you, Daddy_ written in large, clumsy cursive, the border decorated with hearts and stars. He smiled and set it aside, then resumed unpacking.


	4. Chapter 4

**Author's Note**: Okay, a little more going on in this chapter. Erm... yeah. I realize Patrick Gates might be a little OOC when it comes to shouting at the Chases and commenting on Riley's sexuality... but I couldn't help myself.  
"At least I had your mother, for however brief a time. What do you have? _Him_?" Ch'yeahh... no need to explain the implication I get from that...

**Chapter Four**

"Thanks for coming, Robin."

She shrugged. "I figured I should get to know you again, since you're letting me live in your apartment and all."

They were standing on the front doorstep of the Gates' estate, waiting on the door to be answered. After a few moments, the door opened and Abigail beamed at them, gesturing for them to come inside. "It's great to see you, Riley." She caught sight of Robin. "And you must be Robin," she said, extending a hand. "Abigail Chase."

Robin shook hands with Abigail and exchanged pleasantries. Her attention, however, was focused more on the lavish furnishings than on the company. It didn't seem possible that anyone—especially a friend of Riley's—could live in a house like this. And yet, the evidence was right in front of her as Abigail led them into the sitting room.

Abigail's parents were sitting on the sofa, chatting with Ben, wine glasses in hand, while Ben's parents sat in armchairs looking across the room coldly at each other.

"You again!" Patrick Gates had caught sight of Riley. "You're still skulking around here? If I didn't know any better, I'd say you're a fa—"

"Oh, _Benjamin_!" Ben's mother had risen from her chair and crossed the room to the newcomers. "Is this your friend you've been telling us so much about? The one who went along with you on your adventure?"

"Yeah, Mom, that's Riley, and—"

"_Enchanté_," she said, ignoring her son and extending a hand to Riley.

Unsure what to do, Riley glanced over her shoulder at Ben, who mouthed the words _kiss the ring_. He took the offered hand and raised it to his lips, awkwardly kissing the emerald set into the gold band.

She took back her hand and regally strode back to her chair, shooting her ex-husband a dirty look. "_He_ knows how to treat a lady," she said.

Abigail took Ben's seat on the sofa as he stood and made his way to the kitchen, beckoning for Riley and Robin to follow. They quickly crossed the room, eager to get away from the tension between the Gateses.

"Mom's in fine form tonight," Ben said idly as he checked the turkey in the oven. "So is Dad." He closed the oven and straightened, turning back to them. "Robin, right? I'm Ben."

"How does everyone here already know me?" she asked, shaking his hand.

He shrugged nonchalantly. "A little bird told us you might be coming to dinner. Excuse the pun," he added, catching himself.

She shrugged it off. "I get that a lot, don't worry."

"Anything we can do to help, Ben?"

"Yeah, Riley, would you mind grabbing some silverware? Top drawer on the left."

Riley and Robin each grabbed some silverware and began laying it out next to the dishes. Presently, Ben took the turkey from the oven, then walked into the sitting room to announce it was time for dinner.

"Just have a seat and fill your plates," he said. "We're all family here, so help yourselves…."

"Maybe I will later."

Riley took note that Martha Gates wasn't looking at the food as she spoke. She raised one of her finely shaped eyebrows at him and gave him a small, secretive smile. He swore she gave the tiniest of nods, as though to say _you know exactly what I'm talking about_. He swallowed uncomfortably and helped himself to some green beans.

"Abigail, sweetie, would you pass the fruit salad? I just adore it—you must get me the recipe!"

"Err, sure, Mom. Here you go…."

Robin found herself sandwiched between Patrick Gates and William Chase. She was struggling to avoid making direct contact with either of them, concentrating as best she could on her food.

"You know, back when I was a boy, a dinner like this was something we could only have dreamed of," Patrick was saying. "But thanks to my boy's sharp intellect—something he gets from his old man, by the way—look at what we have now!"

She made a noncommittal sort of noise.

"He managed it with the help of my daughter, you remember," William said. "And young Mr. Poole. You can't forget him, eh?" He elbowed Robin in the ribs and gave her a knowing wink.

She made another noncommittal noise.

"Huh, they just sped him on his way. He could have gotten there on his own."

"Are you insulting my daughter?"

"Did I say that?"

"You were implying it. Now, listen, Gates, I'm warning you—"

"You're _warning_ me, Chase?"

Robin glanced down the table beseechingly at Riley. He raised his eyebrows to indicate he received the message, then jerked his head toward the door.

"Ben," he said, standing, "I'm just going to step outside for some fresh air for a minute. It's a little intense in here."

Martha seemed to take this as a cue to stand as well. "I'm just going to go powder my nose, Benjamin."

Ben caught Riley's eye and mouthed the word _run_.

He needed no second bidding, and quickly ducked out of the dining room, making for the first bathroom he saw, quickly locking the door behind him.

Meanwhile, the argument at the other end of the table had escalated, and Robin was still caught in the middle of it. The chairs of Patrick and William were wedged so tightly against hers, it was impossible to back out far enough to stand and make a quick escape.

"I'm not sure your son is suitable for my daughter!"

"Well, I'm not sure your daughter is right for my son!"

Abigail looked over at her father. "Daddy, please! Can't we have a quiet dinner for once?"

"Not with this atrocity here!" he said. His comment only caused Patrick Gates to raise his voice more.

Abigail saw Robin's plight and gave her a sympathizing look. She made a gesture to indicate Robin should go under the table to get out. Grateful, Robin gave a thankful nod, and did as Abigail had said, then made a dash for it down the hallway.

She stopped short when she saw Martha Gates standing outside a closed door.

"Oh, you _are_ a naughty boy, aren't you? Hiding from Miss Martha…." She knocked on the door. "You can't hide in there forever, you know. Don't you want to see what I can do with my pearls?"

Apparently there was some statement from inside the bathroom, because she looked quite taken aback.

"Well, I never—!" She paused again to listen. "In all of my days—the audacity!" She whirled on her heel and began to stalk off across the wooden floor, hardly sparing Robin a glance as she passed.

Robin walked to the closed door and knocked hesitantly.

"Look, you old bat—"

"Riley, it's Robin."

"Is Big Mama Martha with you?"

"N—'Big Mama Martha'?"

There was a sound of a door unlatching, and the door swung open. "It's what she makes all the guys under thirty-five call her. She's kind of a dominatrix."

"And she likes her younger men."

"Oh yeah."

There was a moment of silence between them, but for the first time, it wasn't an uncomfortable silence. The tension of the Gates-Chase household had sorted united them as a two-person army against the forces of tactless parents.

"Finally trying to get some from a girl? I'm proud of you, faggot, maybe I was wrong about you. Now shove over so I can get in there; turkey's never good on my bowels."

Riley stepped aside to allow Patrick access to the bathroom, then walked with Robin back to the dining room. Ben was trying to apologize to William for his father's behaviour while Abigail and her mother chatted animatedly at the other end of the table. Martha had taken her seat again and pursed her lips as they entered.

Robin started to make her way back to her seat, but Riley caught her by the arm. He had stopped next to Ben. "Thanks for having us over, man, but I think we're gonna head home."

"I don't blame you," he said. "See you around."

Riley waved a good-bye to Abigail, then he and Robin left the house as quickly as they could without being rude. After hopping over the doors of the Ferrari, Riley looked at Robin and said, "Look, I'm sorry about their parents. They're a little—"

"No, it's fine. You had it worse than I did with, ah, Big Mama Martha."

He gave a slight laugh as they pulled down the gravel driveway. As they pulled out onto the main road, he glanced over at her and said, "Want to go home and watch a _Star Trek_ marathon?"


	5. Chapter 5

**Author's Note**: Still not much going on. Sorry, folks. Got an idea? Put it in a review. I like reviews.

**Chapter Five**

Several days had passed since the dinner at the Gates Estate. The silences between Riley and Robin were no longer strained, and they were having normal conversations on a regular basis when Robin wasn't at work. Riley was bored and fidgety during the day—he had quit his job to go after the treasure with Ben, and he had no real need for one, content to live off his half of the reward. He still pestered Ben about that; he _could_ have had ten percent. But he had declined, opting instead for only one percent, splitting it with Riley. Still, though, fifty million wasn't bad….

He had often considered finding another job, more for something to do than for monetary reasons. Every time he was feeling motivated to go find employment, though, something else would catch his attention and occupy him long enough to push the job search from his mind.

During the days he spent alone at his apartment, instead of at the Gates Estate, he would often dress up in his Mr. Spock costume and watch _Star Trek_ marathons. When that got old, he would read through his comic books, or occasionally straighten up the apartment. Life was dull since the treasure incident, there was no doubt of that.

"So what do you do now?" Robin asked one night as they sat on the couch watching _Doctor Who_ reruns.

"Oh, you know, a little this and a little that," he said evasively. He had been rather close-mouthed about what he had done for the past eight years. He had mentioned in passing being stuck in a windowless cubicle for a while, and leaving that job, but had never mentioned anything past that.

"Oh, come on. I leave before you, and get home after, and you're making enough money to pay the rent on your apartment and have a pretty damn good lifestyle. What do you do?"

"I told you, a little of this, a little of that…."

"Riley Poole," she said flatly, "I'm just trying to find out what you've been doing for the past eight years. Now, come on, tell me. Do you run a porn site or something?"

"No. I mean, come on, you know I wouldn't do something like that."

"Do I?"

He rolled his eyes. "Look, you know I've always been a little… weirded out by watching raunchy movie scenes or seeing random people make out. Do you _honestly_ think I would run—"

"I was joking, Riley," she said hurriedly. If the conversation stayed on this track, it could lead into an argument—the last thing either of them wanted. "Look, if you really don't want to tell me, all right. You don't have to tell me."

They lapsed into a silence that seemed a bit strained.

Unable to stand it any longer, Riley spoke: "I don't work," he said. "There, now you know. I stay home and do nothing. Sometimes I go over to Ben and Abigail's, just for something different."

"You don't work? Then how do you afford—"

"I quit my job to go on a treasure hunt with Ben."

A pause, then, "Did you find the treasure?"

"Yeah, about ten billion dollars of treasure. They offered Ben ten percent, but he turned it down—"

"_Why_?"

"No idea," he said, then continued, "so he took one percent, and split it with me. Half a percent. That's it, that's all I got."

"But still, Riley, that's… that's like…."

"Fifty million."

"Then why are you still living in this apartment? Why don't you buy a house, or a mansion like Ben? You could travel! You could have a house in Paris, and in London, and in the Caribbean! You could—"

"I could do a lot of things," he said, interrupting her. "But I'm waiting to find the right thing—" His cell phone rang. He grabbed it and looked at the caller ID. He groaned and stood. "Sorry, just let me take this…." He walked out of the room and flipped open the phone. "Hello?"

"She's living with you again? She walked out on you, and you're letting her live with you again?"

"Rachel, this isn't any of your business. How did you even find out?"

"Rebecca told me you got a call from her when the two of you went out for ice cream. Why did you take her out for ice cream? You know she's a little lactose intolerant."

"One brownie sundae isn't going to kill her," he said. "Why do you care who I'm living with, anyway?"

"I like to keep tabs on my daughter's father. You know, to make sure he isn't involved in anything… illicit." She paused, then asked, "Why did she move back in? On the run from the police?"

"No, she got dumped and had nowhere else to—why am I telling you this? Bye, Rachel." He hung up the phone, ending the call. It immediately rang again. He silenced it and left it sitting on his bed.

He walked back into the main room to see Robin rummaging through a bag on the table. She glanced up at him and pulled out a large manila envelope. "I brought this home for you," she said, handing it to him. "Figured you'd like it."

He gave her a questioning look, but opened the envelope, pulling out a comic book. "_Black Hole_ Volume 94, First Edition?" He flipped through the pages. "You've got to be _kidding_ me! How did you get this? I thought it wasn't supposed to be on the racks for—"

"Another week, yeah," she said, nodding. "I'm one of the writers, and I do the pencilling. We can usually get advanced copies if we ask for them, so I figured you might like it. I mean, I was just assuming that you still read—"

He pulled her into a tight hug, the expression on his face not unlike that of an eight-year-old boy who has just received a new bicycle. "You're amazing, Robin—thanks!"

"You're welcome. Enjoy it; it'll be a while before the next one's out—our editor just quit, and we haven't found a new one yet."

He had released her and was now flipping through the comic book again. "Hey, hey, I was wondering… is there any way you could, I don't know, suggest a new character? I was thinking about it, maybe a really cool guy that's good with computers—tall, dark, handsome, you know the type—and, anyway, he finds this virus that's going through the Hole and stops it with the power of technology."

"I don't know, we already had someone like that in Volume 63, if you remember. Darb Yelsaeb the Time Traveler—he came from Sector Seven."

"Yeah, I remember," he said, frowning slightly. "But Darb was blonde, and besides, this new guy wouldn't be from Sector Seven, and he wouldn't be a time traveler. He'd just sort of be an Average Joe that had greatness thrust upon him, y'know?"

"I'll see if I can mention it to everyone else," she said. "But what would his name be?"

"Yelir Eloop."

She rolled her eyes. "How did I not see that one coming? Enjoy reading, I'm going to bed. Good night, Riley."

But he wasn't listening. He had already flopped back down on the sofa and was immersed in the adventures of the crew of the NSEA Endeavour on alien planets.


	6. Chapter 6

**Author's Note**: In case you needed proof, here it is: I'm not quite sure where to go with this. I know where I want it to end up, but not what all to put in the middle between beginning and end. So, seriously, give me a review to suggest something for a chapter or to just tell me what you want to see.

**Chapter Six**

Several weeks had passed, and suddenly July 21 was upon them: Riley's birthday. The small apartment was housing a small birthday get-together: Riley, Robin, Ben, Abigail, and Ben's uninvited parents. Riley was thoroughly unamused at the cake Ben and Abigail had shown up with, decorated with the logos of all the fast-food restaurants at which he had managed to find and lose jobs over the past several weeks: Chick-Fil-A, Burger King, Arby's, Taco Bell, McDonald's, and Wendy's.

"Very funny, you guys," he said as they brought it out and began sticking candles in it.

"You're the only twenty-eight-year-old guy I know that can go through jobs at six fast-food joints in four weeks," Robin said, sticking a candle in the middle of the Arby's hat. "You really have to share your secret with me. How _do_ you do it?"

"Just light the damn candles, Robin."

Ben, Abigail, and Robin laughed; Patrick looked at the birthday boy with mild dislike. Martha smirked and raised an eyebrow suggestively. "Anxious for the party to be over, birthday boy?" she asked. "Got plans for later?"

"Mom, please, not tonight."

"Yes, Martha, for God's sake, don't spoil the evening for the rest of us."

She pressed her lips together into a thin line and looked at her ex-husband contemptuously. "_You_ don't have to be here, Patrick," she said. "_You_ weren't invited."

"Neither were you, Mom," Ben pointed out.

She fell silent for a while, not even joining in the singing of Happy Birthday to You after the candles had all been placed and lit. Riley began to blow out the candles, but Abigail interjected "Wait! Make a wish!" and refused to let him blow them out until he swore to have made a wish. When the candles had been blown out and pulled from the frosting, she grabbed a knife and began to cut the cake, then served it to each of them all in turn.

"You know, this tastes a little… off," Riley said, a few bites into his cake.

"I was afraid that would happen," Abigail said, setting her plate down on the kitchen counter. "I never should have gone to the Wal-Mart bakery… which is why we brought a back-up."

Riley glanced sideways at Robin. "A back-up?"

"I don't know anything about it," she said. "They were in charge of food."

"It's probably gone bad," Ben said. "We forgot to bring it up; it's been sitting in the car—" Abigail tossed the keys at him, and he stood anyway, leaving the apartment to go get the "back-up" from the car. Presently, he returned carrying a large, bright red box with what looked like ventilation holes in the sides.

"You know," said Riley, "that looks a lot like—oh my God. It is."

Ben and Abigail had opened the box and pulled out an apple pie from McDonald's that was six times the normal size.

"That's it, I'm out of here," said Patrick. He grabbed his coat from the back of a chair and left without another word. The giant apple pie seemed to be too much for him.

"You know those things go bad after about three minutes of sitting out, right?" Riley asked, looking at Ben and Abigail as they sliced into the pie.

"We figured it wouldn't keep," said Ben. "But we thought it'd give us all a good laugh. Except Dad, apparently." He shrugged.

"Well, if we're all done with the food," said Martha, speaking for the first time since Patrick had snapped at her, "I think it's time for someone's birthday spanking!"

There was an uncomfortable silence in which the other four looked at each other.

"You know, Mom, it's starting to get late. Maybe you should go on home? You remember what happened last time you were out late—"

"What was a kid doing riding his bike at eleven-thirty, anyway?" she said. "Bah, you're probably right, Benjamin. Good night, everyone. And I'll come back for those birthday spankings," she added, pointing a finger at Riley.

He smiled forcedly at her at she grabbed her keys, waved good-bye once more, then left the apartment.

"We should probably get going, too," Ben said, glancing at the clock. "Don't want Mom having another hit-and-run with a kid on a bike…. We'll help you clean up, though," he added.

Bedraggled streamers had fallen to the floor, balloons were scattered throughout the apartment, paper plates—most still with cake on them—and napkins had been set randomly on any available surface along with paper cups. Wrapping paper was strewn across the living room. Riley couldn't help but imagine what sort of mess there would be to clean up if he had accepted Ben's offer of having a huge party at the Gates Estate instead of a small one at his apartment.

Within a few minutes, the mess was cleaned up, and Ben and Abigail were on their way out with the remnants of the cake and pie.

"I hope you had a good birthday," Robin said as she dropped the last paper plate into the trash can.

He shrugged, smiling. "Yeah, it was okay. I mean, a birthday's a birthday, you know?"

"It would have been better with the spanking, right?" she asked, joining him on the sofa.

"Batty old woman," he muttered. "Why did Ben's parents even show up? I mean, Ben's mom is a crazy old woman. She's going to do whatever the hell she wants, and nobody's going to stop her, but his dad hates me."

"He doesn't hate you, Riley. How could anyone hate you?"

"You did," he replied dryly.

"Yeah, like that counts," she said, rolling her eyes. "I didn't _hate_ you, I was just _angry_ with you."

He nodded, looking up at the ceiling. "Right, mm-hmm."

"Oh! I almost forgot!" She scrambled up from the couch and began digging through her bag, which was in its usual place, sitting in a chair around the table. She pulled out a large envelope like the one she had given to him several weeks before with Volume 94 of _Black Hole_. She held it out to him. "It isn't much," she said, "but what do you get a guy who has fifty million dollars stashed away in a bank somewhere?"

He laughed and opened the envelope. Inside was a comic book. "Volume 95?" he asked. She shook her head, and he pulled it out. _The Adventures of Yelir Eloop_ was written in fancy script across the top of the cover, and below it was a cartoon of himself, standing heroically with an iPod in his hand, looking out from the cover over his thick-framed glasses. He glanced up at her, and she gestured for him to open it.

He opened it and saw that the plot centered around a treasure hunt. The other two main characters were Liagib Esahc and Neb Setag; the villain was Nai Ewoh, accompanied by his multiple goons.

He closed the comic book and set it down.

"You wouldn't believe how glad those guys were to work on a different storyline," she said. "Apparently, they get tired of drawing the same characters over and over again."

"Thanks, Robin," he said, smiling. Then his smile faltered slightly. "It's great, but…."

"But what?"

"Where's the rest of it?" At the look of confusion on her face, he continued, "What happens to them after they find the treasure? I mean, you can't just end it there… you can't just leave the audience hanging!"

"Well, I don't know what happened to them," she said as he stood and put the book on the table. "It isn't my story, it's theirs."

"All right," he said. "Well, Yelir takes his share of the treasure and buys a new car, and then his friend Nibor moves back in—"

"Rabiin," she corrected.

"—and then—what? No, it's Nibor, isn't it?"

She shook her head and said, "Trust me, it's Rabiin. But please, continue."

As she walked over to the couch and began to fold it out, he continued, "Anyway, Rabiin moves back in with Yelir, and then—what are you doing?"

She paused and looked back at him. "I'm pulling the couch out so I can sleep on it, like I do every night."

"You don't have…I mean, if you'd rather sleep, um…."

She shook her head. "No," she said. "I'm sorry, Riley—don't take it personally, it's just… I can't. I'm not ready for that again. Not just yet."

"Oh," he said, "all right. I understand."

She finished folding out the bed and straightened, walking back to him. She gave him a hug and a peck on the cheek. "Happy birthday, Riley. Good night."

"Good night, Robin," he said as she walked to the bathroom to wash her face and brush her teeth. Then quieter, to himself, "And then they live together under the same roof, stuck in relationship limbo between Just Friends and Something More."


	7. Chapter 7

**Author's Note**: Okay, another ridiculously short chapter. My apologies. Seriously, though, if you have any suggestions--any at all--don't hesitate to let me know.  
I'd also like to mention that the _Black Hole_ comic book series isn't related to the graphic novels... It was just a random title idea I had that's layered with foreshadowing. Yay, foreshadows!  
In addition, for anyone that cares, tomorrow morning (August 4), bright and early, I'll be going out of town for a week, so no updates for a while. I might try to get another chapter up tonight... but we'll just have to wait and see.

**Chapter Seven**

"So how was your birthday, man?"

Riley was standing behind the counter of Popeyes Chicken and Biscuits, working at one of the cash registers. Leaning against the counter next to him was a tall black man with a gold earring; one of Riley's coworkers, James. Riley shrugged "It was good. You know, a party, a little cake…."

"They make you make a wish?"

"Yeah."

James laughed. "Yeah, my wife makes me do the same thing. So what'dja wish for?"

"Rebecca."

"Rebecca? Damn, man, how many girls've you got? First you're talkin' about some chick name Robin that's livin' with you, then there's this blonde named Rachel, and you talk about this chick named Abigail—and now Rebecca? Damn, man, four women? That's hell."

Riley rolled his eyes. "Rebecca's my _daughter_," he said.

"Oh, I didn't know you were married, man. But still, cheatin' on your—"

"I'm not married."

"Ahh, so you're divor—"

"I was nineteen, Rachel was drunk, things got out of hand, and then my girlfriend walked out on me. Rachel bought a house with her girlfriend, I didn't talk to Robin for eight years, and now she's moved back in with me. Any questions?"

"Yeah, I got one. Where does Abigail come into all of this?"

"She's marrying my best friend in October."

"Right."

A silence fell between them, and each man was left to his own thoughts. James said something about cleaning the floors, grabbed a mop, and walked off, leaving Riley at the register. He took the orders of a few late lunchers—it was nearly three o'clock—and then the lethargy of the afternoon set in once more. Riley began to doze lightly, his eyes unfocused on the comic book that was spread out on the counter next to the register.

"I need three Number Ones, two Number Fours, and a spicy Number Three. I want them all with fries—keep the change just make it quick!"

He jerked out of his trance and looked up at the customer.

"Well, come on, hurry! Our new editor doesn't like to be kept wai—_Riley_? Hurry up!"

He punched the order into the register, yelled "make it quick!" over his shoulder, then looked back at Robin. "What are you doing here at three in the afternoon?"

"What are _you_ doing here? I thought you were working at Subway?"

"As of two days ago, I work here."

"Can't they go any faster? We just got out of a four-hour-long meeting with our new editor, and apparently he has a Popeyes fetish. He said it's going to be a bad thing if he doesn't get his chicken and biscuits soon."

The carry-out bag had hardly touched the counter when she snatched it up and dashed out the doors, not bothering even to call good-bye over her shoulder.

"So which one was that?" James asked, setting down a _Caution: Wet Floor_ sign as he continued to mop. "She seems a little… tense."

"Robin just got a new boss," he said, putting the money she had left in the register and pulling out the change. "I mean, I guess he's her boss. They got a new editor."

"Editor for what? The _Post_?"

"No, she's a writer and penciller for _Black Hole_."

"You shittin' me?" He glanced over his shoulder and apologized to an elderly woman who was dumping her trash in the receptacle behind him. "_Black Hole_? I love that shit, man. You read the one where Kcuhc Sirron single-handedly wipes out the entire civilization of that purple planet in Sector Five with a rubber band and some rocks?"

For the next hour, the two chatted about _Black Hole_, their favourite issues, their favourite characters, ideas they had about where the plot was going and which character would be the next to die, a conversation that was only interrupted by the occasional customer. At four o'clock, their shifts were over, and they left the restaurant.

"But listen, man, you oughta do somethin' to get her to relax, so she doesn't look like she's got a bug up her ass, all right?"

"Oh, come on, she isn't like that. It was her new editor's first day, she probably just had a lot going on at work—"

"Hey, man, whatever. Just sayin' what I'd do. See you tomorrow, Riley." James climbed into his beat-up car and drove away as Riley hopped over the door of his Ferrari, contemplating what James had said. She _had_ seemed a little wrung-out earlier; maybe he should do something for her. Resolving to make dinner, he decided to stop by Balducci's on the way home.


	8. Chapter 8

**Author's Note**: Okay, so, like I said last time, I'm leaving tomorrow (August 4), and won't be back until the eleventh. So, until then, think of ideas, then send them to me in a review. Because _I need suggestions for the next few chapters. _  
Credit for the lines going all the way to the far side of the parking lot idea goes to Raquelita, _ma cherie_. _Je t'aime, ma Raquelita!_

**Chapter Eight**

"Riley, that was seriously the best lasagna I've ever put in my mouth."

"Well, you know, I came home and slaved over a hot oven…."

"You pulled it out of a box and heated it up, didn't you?"

"Yeah. The salad's home made, though."

Robin smiled and said, "Well, I'm impressed. Salad's a difficult thing to make." She picked up her wine glass and studied it for a moment, then said, "And I am _very_ impressed by your fine wine glasses."

"Six bucks for four at Wal-Mart," he said. "And see, they're plastic, that way you don't break them when you've had too much to drink."

"Are you implying I've had too much to drink, Mr. Poole?"

He glanced at the bottle sitting between them on the table. It was nearly empty. "The two of us have almost finished off the bottle," he said, "and you've had more than I have."

She laughed, a sort of cackling laugh, and he shook his head and stood, beginning to clear away the dishes. "No, don't—I'll get that, Riley, sit down—" She tried to stand, but lost her balance and fell back down into her chair, laughing again. She tried again, and managed to stand and make her way to the sofa, where she promptly flopped down, spilling a bit of wine, not noticing as it ran down her arm. He glanced over at her, unable to believe her low alcohol tolerance; it was no wonder she had opted for water in place of wine when they had gone to Ben and Abigail's for dinner that night. That night seemed so long ago, now. He glanced back at her on the sofa and took her a rag to wipe the wine from her forearm, liberating her of her wine glass, telling her that she had had quite enough for one night.

"So," she said, wiping her arm off with the dishrag, "how does a grown man lose so many jobs at fast food restaurants?"

"That," said Riley, "is a skill that few possess. You see, it takes exceptional talent to be able to zone out long enough for the line of customers to reach the far side of the parking lot. Almost as much talent as it takes to make salad."

"Well, you're just a talented guy, then, aren't you?" She was swaying slightly as she sat, still wiping her arm with the dishrag, despite the fact the wine was cleaned off. He gently plucked the dishrag from her and tossed it in the direction of the kitchen, missing the end of the counter by several inches. "Maybe you aren't so talented," she amended, laughing.

"Like you could have made that."

"You never know. I might have."

He looked at her, a skeptical eyebrow raised. He seriously doubted she could have made the throw. He cringed slightly as she reached forward and pulled off his glasses—he half expected her to poke him in the eye in her impaired state. Relieved that he had sustained no eye injuries, he relaxed and watched her look at his glasses in an amused sort of way, even going so far as to put them on and squint at him through them. He smiled, reminded of his daughter. Rebecca always liked to play with his glasses and look through them owlishly. Then, quite without warning, Robin leaned forward and kissed him, bringing him out of his reverie. She leaned back and grinned at him drunkenly, still squinting through his glasses.

"So, what are you thinking?" she asked.

What was he thinking? He was thinking of his last alcohol-induced love affair, remembering the projectiles she had thrown at him, remembering…. After that night, the night she had left, he had sworn to himself to never again do anything with an intoxicated woman. _Never_.

"Riley? What are you thinking?" she repeated.

He took his glasses back from her and folded them up. "I'm thinking it's time for you to go to bed," he said at last.

She giggled again, and he managed to get her on her feet long enough to fold out the couch for her. She fell back onto it and grabbed his hand, still looking at him giddily. He shook his head slightly, then leaned forward to kiss her on the cheek. "Good night, Robin."

By the time he had brushed his teeth and returned to the main room to turn the light out, she had already fallen asleep and was snoring lightly.


	9. Chapter 9

**Author's Note**: Flashback time! Ch'yeahh... I thought about making these bizarre dream sequences--those are always fun--but instead just settled for flashbacks to give a little insight as to what it was like for them after "that night."

**Chapter Nine**

_Riley smiled and waggled a finger at the little girl, gently tapping her on the nose. The toddler laughed and swatted at his hand, catching hold of his fingers. He took the little girl in his arms, taking her from her mother and bouncing her up and down. She shrieked with laughter._

"_Shouldn't you be getting back to class or something?" Rachel's voice was cold, each word layered with disapproval._

"_Rachel, why can't you just let me enjoy this? She's mine as much as yours." Her expression remained unchanged, and with a sigh, he handed the toddler back to her mother._

"_By the way, Riley, Lauren and I are moving, and we're taking Rebecca with us."_

"_Moving? But why—where?"_

"_Lauren got a job offer in Orlando. We're moving at the end of the month."_

"_But, Rachel, you can't just—"_

_But she had already walked away. Rebecca was balanced on her hip, waving good-bye to Riley over her mother's shoulder._

_Feeling slightly detached from the world, numb, Riley turned and began to walk away in a daze. He came back to reality, realizing a brunette woman was watching him, her face free of any expression. "Robin—!" He began to make his way toward her, but a group of students came between them, and when they had moved on, she was gone._

_For nearly a year after she had left, he had tried desperately to get in touch with her, to apologize, to make amends. She never answered or returned any of his calls—she wouldn't pick up if he used star-sixty-seven or if he tried calling from a different phone number. She seemed to have removed herself from all manner of outside communications. This was the first he had seen of her since then. She had disappeared from classes. Anyone he asked said they hadn't seen her, although he suspected she had told them not to give away any clues about here whereabouts to him. He never saw her walking around campus, or grocery shopping, or lurking around some of their favourite haunts…._

Riley awoke from the dream and groped on his bedside table for his phone. He quickly dialed a number.

"Hello?"

"Rachel? I was calling to talk to Rebecca."

"Riley, it's one in the morning. Call back later."

The line went dead, the blonde woman having hung up. Frowning, Riley put the phone back on the bedside table and rolled over to go back to sleep.

"_You need to just let it go. He wasn't good enough for you, anyway."_

_Robin's cheeks flushed, and she frowned. "He _was_ good enough for me," she said. "He was different, he was—"_

"_A schmuck! Rob, if a man is in bed with another woman, he isn't the one for you." The dark-haired woman paused, studying the painting on the canvas in front of her, frowning slightly. "What made him different, Rob?"_

"_He was… I don't know, he was like us."_

"_Like us?" The dark-haired woman let out a shriek of laughter. "Like us? You know as well as I do that no one here is going to be 'like us.' Forget about him, Rob. If there's one thing you can never be certain about, it's men."_

"_He said he loved me."_

"_Hello, how long have you been here? Love doesn't mean anything any more. Some men will say anything to get into bed with you—and apparently this Randolph guy—"_

"_Riley," Robin corrected quietly._

_The other woman pressed on, ignoring the interjection, "—was one of those guys. Look, I know it breaks your heart, but it's time to wake up and smell the coffee. Move on, there are plenty of other fish in the sea."_

"_Whatever you say, Mia." Robin stared distractedly out the window, not particularly listening to the rest of her friend's monologue. As much as she knew Mia was right—she needed to move on, whether she wanted to accept it or not—she didn't want to. She wasn't ready to move on._

_But she did. Her new roommate Lindsay insisted upon setting her up on blind date after blind date, and soon, Riley Poole was almost pushed entirely from her mind. Almost. She would still dream about him at night, and wake up the angry the next morning, the memory of that night burning in her mind. That night…._

Robin stirred slightly and woke, rubbing her eyes. She had a headache. The events of the previous day came into focus; her new editor, Popeyes, dinner, the wine—the wine. She was dehydrated, that's where the headache was coming from. She got up off the fold-out couch and made her way to the bathroom to get a drink, hardly conscious of the fact she was still in her clothes from the day before. After getting her drink, she began to make her way back to the living room when she heard a voice say, "Can't sleep?" She looked through the dark doorway and saw Riley lying flat on his back, staring up at the ceiling. He heard her stop walking and turned his head to look at her. He pushed himself up so that he was sitting with his back resting against the headboard, and said, "I can't, either."

She shuffled into his bedroom and sat down next to him. "I've been thinking," she said after a moment. "My friend Mia was like a sister to me…. She… she never approved of you, I don't think." She gave a slight laugh. "Especially after…."

"Don't talk about it," he interrupted. "Don't even think about it. Let's just move on."

"That's what Mia told me," she said. "Just move on."

"Did you?"

She paused before answering. "No," she said at last. "Not really." She smiled at him through the darkness and put her hand on his. "I don't really want to."


	10. Chapter 10

**Author's Note**: I'm back from the Keys. And this is what I managed to hack out, along with the ending. I also managed to hack out a one-shot that's going up in a little while called "Hey, Chica."  
Also, word to the wise: Don't fall asleep with the TV on Nickelodeon. You'll wake up from bizarre dreams about _Dora the Explorer_ and Will Smith.

**Chapter Ten**

Riley's heart leapt—his mind was flooded with a million and one thoughts from the mundane to the outrageous. Robin was looking at him expectantly. Amidst the incoherent babble racing through his mind, he couldn't distinguish one thought from the next; all he could do was stutter.

The gentle smile on Robin's face faltered—she wasn't sure how to interpret his inarticulacy. "Look, Riley," she said, "I'll completely understand if you've moved on, and you don't—"

One thought screamed at him, cutting through all the others: he had disappointed her. She was upset, and it was his fault. His fault. It had been his fault she had left eight years ago, and it was his fault she was unhappy now. It was now his chance to make things right, to stop her from leaving again, to prevent either of them suffering further heartbreak. Words continued to fail him, but his mind continued to race. He had only a moment to make his decision, to decide on his plan of action. He caught her hand as she began to pull it away. "The night you left—"

"Riley, please, don't—"

"It…" He paused. Thoughts had become coherent, he knew what he wanted to say. The only problem was putting it into words. He tightened his grip on her hand as she again began to draw away, and then words found him: "The night you left was like Volume 45 of _Black Hole_ when Kriss betrayed Siilya. He knew what he did was wrong, and he wanted to apologize, but he couldn't—he was afraid she wouldn't listen, or that she wouldn't forgive him for what he did. But then, in Volume 47, she finds him and says she's forgiven him for everything, and then they move on."

She gave him a sideways look. "What are you trying to say, Riley?"

"I guess… I guess that's a really long way of saying—"

But the rest of his sentence was lost as she kissed him.

**:-x-:-x-:-x-:**

"And then she said, 'I love it when you talk geek.'"

At the conclusion of Riley's recollection of events, James said nothing for a moment. The elderly man behind Riley coughed, and then the tall black man said, "And that's what you were thinkin' about all yesterday?"

"Yeah, because now—"

"Riley, here's your chicken. There are other customers that gotta be served."

So distracted by the events that had passed, Riley had managed to successfully take the orders of a grand total of three people, effectively managing to lose his job at Popeyes. He had returned the following day to talk to James and ended up managing to hold up the line in the middle of the lunch rush. The elderly man immediately behind him was polite enough, giving a quiet cough when he had finished the story, but the customers beyond were becoming more and more disgruntled. Riley took his chicken and sat at a table near the back of the restaurant to await the end of the lunch crowd.

**:-x-:-x-:-x-:**

"Rob, I told you, get over him. What good has he ever done you?"

"Mia, I told you, he's sweet, he's honest, he's—"

"Honest? He was in bed with another woman! And before you even think of saying it, he isn't anything like us. He never will be, you know that." Mia looked down at her ink-stained fingers, then glanced at the penciled panels Robin had just dropped onto the workspace beside her.

Robin made an aggravated noise. "I didn't ask you, anyway," she said. "I'm happy when I'm with him; why can't you just accept that?"

Her friend didn't respond, beginning her work on the fresh panels in silence. "How far would you trust him?" she asked after a moment.

"To the ends of the earth! Why can't you just accept that?"

Mia moved a finished page out of her way, placing it directly in Robin's line of sight. One of the panels had an illustration of the remnants of a destroyed planet. "Whose earth?"

**:-x-:-x-:-x-:**

"So how're things going? Still awkward?"

Riley was on the phone with Ben as he scanned the newspaper for job openings. "Not bad," he said after a moment's consideration. "Ben, I think we're back together again."

"You think? You mean, you aren't sure?"

"We didn't really talk about it," he said. "She said she never found someone else, didn't want to, said she loved how geeky I was, and then we made out."

Ben laughed. "Sounds to me like you're back together."

"She was kind of hung over at the time," Riley said, "and nothing's happened since then."

"Then why don't you just talk about it? I'm sure she's more than willing to—"

"No, Ben, I can't just randomly call her and say, 'Hey, are we back together because we made out while you were hung over?' It doesn't work that way." His phone made a noise in his ear, and he pulled it away to glance at the screen. "I've gotta go, Ben," he said. "She's calling on the other line."

"Talk to her about it."

"Yeah, sure. Bye." He switched to the other line, hanging up on Ben, both men fully aware that Riley had no intention of speaking to her about any sort of personal issue. "Robin? Hey, baby, what's up?"

**:-x-:-x-:-x-:**

**Author's Note**: Yeah, another note. Just thought I'd apologize for the shortness and excessive dialogue of this chapter. I'm not too happy with it.  
Also, a little preview/spoiler/whatever. The last word of _Lost and Found: A_ National Treasure _Fanfiction by Billee Wisconsin_ is "yes." But who says yes? And to what? Tune in next time for the exciting conclusion!  
...maybe "exciting" is pushing it...


	11. Chapter 11

**Author's Note**: And here it is, the eleventh and final chapter of _Lost and Found_. There will be a sequel, but no promises as to when it'll be up; I have band and school and whatnot starting within the next week, so I'll get to it when I get to it.

**Chapter Eleven**

The next three months passed by without incident. Life in Riley's apartment was peaceful, but uneventful. There had been few developments in his personal life. He and Robin were now regularly sharing his bed, but not, slightly to his disappointment, in an intimate or romantic sense. More and more often, he and Robin would decline dinner invitations from Ben and Abigail, preferring to have dinner with only each other. The life in the home of the future Mister and Missus Gates, however, had reached an emotional high. When their parents came for dinner, it was sheer hell as the date of the wedding drew closer and closer.

At last, the day of the wedding came, a brisk day in October, hardly a week before Halloween. Abigail was radiant, a vision in white, beaming at anyone she saw as her bridesmaids helped her slip into her gown. Ben, on the other hand, was a nervous wreck, pacing back and forth while Riley tried to console him. He was continuously running a hand through his hair, his expression changing from a grimace to a grin and back again in the blink of an eye. "Riley, what if this isn't right? What if it's not what we really want?" He froze and looked at his best man. "Do you think she's having second thoughts?"

Riley straightened the collar of Ben's tuxedo jacket, then turned his attention to the groom's bowtie. "You'll be fine, Ben. I mean, come on, it's just a wedding, right?"

"No, Riley, this is—it's a big step. If you had ever even come close to—" He broke off, eyes wide, at seeing the hurt look on his friend's face. "God, Riley, I didn't mean it like that—"

"I know, man. It's all right. I know you're stressed about your big day and all. You'll be fine." He pulled back the sleeve of his jacket and glanced at his watch, then gave Ben a reassuring smile and pat on the shoulder. "Time to go," he said. "You'll be fine."

**:-x-:-x-:-x-:**

"…pronounce you husband and wife. You may kiss the bride."

Looking relieved the ordeal was over, Ben kissed his new bride. The guests applauded, even Patrick and William, looking pacified but still disgruntled. It was official, and there was no turning back: their families were now joined, until death do them part. Robin was seated at the end of a row, relieved to be away from Patrick and William for once. Riley caught her eye, and after glancing briefly at the bride and groom, ducked away from Ben's side and sat next to her.

"Riley—"

"We need to talk at the reception," he said. Before she could ask why or about what, he had hurried back to the front to resume his place and escort the maid of honour back down the aisle to exit the small church.

The guests followed the wedding party, out to the churchyard where the reception was being held. A pavilion had been set up, tables and chairs set up underneath it. Riley milled about on the far side for a good fifteen minutes before managing to catch sight of Robin loitering around near the punch bowl. He touched her on the elbow and indicated they should get away from the main crowd. She followed him away from the other guests to the edge of the churchyard, and they stood under the shade of the oak trees for several minutes in silence.

"Nice shoes," she said after a moment. "I can't believe Ben and Abigail let you wear them."

He looked down at his feet and shuffled his black Converse self-consciously in the leaves that littered the ground, laughing slightly. His laughter died uncomfortably, and silence fell between them once more.

"So, what did you want to talk about, Riley?"

He cleared his throat and looked up at the orange leaves still clinging to the limbs above. "I'm moving back to Florida," he said at last.

She clapped a hand over her mouth. "Oh my God, I never moved out. I'm sorry I stopped looking for my own place, but I thought—"

"No, Robin, it's fine," he said, waving a hand absently to interrupt her. "Having you around has been incredible. These past few months couldn't have been better."

She looked away from him, her eyes fixed blankly on the gnarled roots of the oaks. "Why are you moving?" she asked quietly.

"I decided you were right—I should do something with my half of the reward from the treasure. So for starters, I'm moving back to Florida to be closer to Rebecca."

Her eyes snapped to his face and were all at once filled with anger and hurt. "to be closer to Rebecca? Is she that chick you were with that night? I thought—"

"Robin, wait! Please, don't make the same mistake again—just listen to me for a minute." He waited for her to close her mouth and fall into a sullen silence, still looking hurt, then continued, "Rebecca is my daughter. That girl—Rachel—couldn't have made it home from that party. Look, don't ask me how, but things got out of hand. I wasn't thinking clearly, and I can't blame alcohol. I screwed up big time, Robin, and I can't undo what's been done. If it's any consolation, Rachel and I can hardly speak without shouting at each other, and she does everything she can to keep me from seeing Rebecca. The only good that came from that night is my little girl. When you came back, it was my one chance to make things right, to fix things and put them the way they should have been from the beginning. God, Robin, you don't know how afraid I was of screwing up again. I'm not moving because of you, or something you've done. I'm moving to be the father my daughter needs me to be. By all rights, she should be your daughter, too."

"Riley—"

"And if you want to come with me, I—I'd love to take you."

She looked away from him. The anger and hurt had disappeared from her face. "Riley, I would love to go with you…"

"But?"

"But, my job—"

"Quit," he said simply. "I have more than enough money—"

"It isn't that simple. This job is what got me here in the first place. If I quit—"

"If you quit, you'll have more time to do what you want to do. You could meet Rebecca, and then we could do all those things you said; we could travel, have a house in France, and in Spain, and in the Caribbean; we could get married and start a family—" He broke off, looking at her apprehensively. Had he gone too far? There was a silence between them; even the dull roar of the reception seemed muted. At length, Robin spoke, her voice gentle.

"Riley, are you… are you asking me to—to marry you?"

He hesitated a moment. He had only intended to ask her to come away with him; the idea of a marriage proposal had hardly crossed his mind. It was true, though, that what he wanted more than anything was a family. A _real_ family—to have kids that lived with _both_ parents, parents who loved each other. It was now or never, he decided; this was their chance to realize the dream they had shared what seemed like so long ago…. At last, he spoke: "Yes."


End file.
